


Impressive, Truly (Fictober Submission)

by PerpetualSpinster



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Kid Erik Killmonger, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 19:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16839259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerpetualSpinster/pseuds/PerpetualSpinster
Summary: N'Jobu has a talk with his son, who is upset over some rumors at school.





	Impressive, Truly (Fictober Submission)

N'Jadaka stands on the court, dribbling his basketball halfheartedly as the sun began to set on Oakland. The chill in the air was not enough to get N'Jadaka back inside his apartment complex as he practiced his jump shot over and over again, hitting brick after brick. N'Jadaka ran after the ball with a heavy amount of frustration that made him angrier with every miss. His breathing was heavy as a rock formed in his throat and his eyes began to sting, hindering his vision as he makes another missing shot. 

This time his father, N’Jobu, was waiting under the basket to retrieve the ball. N’Jobu catches it, squeezing the ball between his hands as he cautiously approached his upset son.

“What is troubling you, N’Jadaka?” N’Jobu asks softly.

N'Jadaka wipes his eyes with the back of his sweatshirt sleeve. “I told you not to call me that, I’m Erik. It doesn’t matter. You can’t help me.”

N’Jobu looks to his son with pity. “Your mother has a name for you, and I have one as well….I can’t help you if you don’t tell me. What’s wrong?”

N'Jadaka crosses his arms, “Baba-”

“Now, I must stop you there. If I can’t call you N’Jadaka, why would you call me Baba?” N’Jobu asks with a serious tone.

N'Jadaka looks at him wide eyes. “But– ugh, fine. Call me N’Jadaka since my friends aren’t around. Baba-”

“And an apology would suffice as well. I may be your father, but I have feelings too. You are my son, I love you. And we should be able to address each other comfortably.”

N'Jadaka snaps his head back to beg the sky why. “I’m sorry Baba, but can I please tell you what is bothering me now?”

N’Jobu bounces the ball a couple times. “Sure thing. I was waiting on you.”

N'Jadaka sighs. “My friends and I had a project at school to talk about our family and where we come from.” 

N’Jobu nods. “Yes, you drew out that delightful tree with our names on it. Wonderful job.”

N'Jadaka looks at his feet. “But when I told them about Wakanda, they started laughing.”

N’Jobu held the ball and squatted to come to his son’s eye level. “I’m sorry to hear that. It was not nice of them to do that, they just don’t understand.”

N'Jadaka’s eyes began to puddle again. “They called me a monkey boy, and said I was from the Jungle Book. They said only cartoon characters come from Africa, and that I am a clown. Why wouldn’t they believe me? Wakanda is real, right?”

N’Jobu laid a hand on his shoulder. “More real than anything they may ever see, my son. They aren’t as aware of it as we are. The continent as a whole isn’t taught about well here, much less our history.”

“Why don’t they know about us, Baba? You showed me on a map, but the maps at school don’t show Wakanda.” Erik asks.

“That is an excellent question, Daka. Come, follow me upstairs.” N’Jobu led N’Jadaka to their home, opening the door to the savory smells of chicken frying. 

“It’s about time you came in here. I told you, you’re gonna catch a cold!” his mother scolds at while the pan pops.

N’Jobu comes up to her kissing the side of her face. “Give the boy a break, love. He’s had a long day.”

His mother looks back at him. “Erik, why haven’t you said anything to me?”

He kicks his sneakers at the carpet. “Hi, Mama.”

She holds an arm out for him to come under, hugging him. “Those boys bothering you again at school?” Erik nods. “I told you not to pay them no mind. Half of them got daddies that ain’t there or in jail. You are already more fortunate than they could dream to be. My smart, handsome son just has too big a heart, people take advantage of that.” She holds his chin, tilting his face up to look at her.

N’Jobu comes up to stand over them both. “She is right, you know. She always is.” N’Jobu smiles, grabbing her waist with pride as she squirms away from his ticklish touch. N’Jobu take N’Jadaka over to their kitchen table, moving a panel in the wall to bring out a globe like figure. Setting it in front of them, N’Jobu points toward the center of Africa.

“That, right there is where we are from, right? Now what is Wakanda is a little country of shepherds and farmers, but what do you know about it?”

N’Jadaka thinks a moment. “It’s the vibranium, right?”

“Good! And vibranium is pretty cool to use, right?”

N’Jadaka nods excitedly beaming. “Yeah! It makes everything go, and it’s really strong, and it can help people!”

N’Jobu grins prideful at his son. “That is right, Daka. Very good! So if someone has a really cool item, that can do all of that, would people leave it alone or want some too?”

“People would want it! But it’s ok, because you can share, right Baba?”

N’Jobu sits back in amazement. “Impressive, truly. My young son has more sense than a stubborn King could ever gain.”

Erik’s mother comes in with a plate of the chicken and some spare plates. “Bubu, help me with the sides please.

“Sure, one more moment. N’Jadaka, you are right, we can share because it can help people. There are so many lost ones out there who have no means to make their lives better, but WE can help them. Myself, Uncle James, you one day, my boy.”

N’Jadaka smiled at the thought. “Nah, Uncle James isn’t as strong as we are, Baba! We can help everybody in the neighborhood by ourselves. And maybe the kids will stop talking about me and want to know more about Wakanda instead!”

N’Jobu gets up to head for the kitchen. “Maybe, son. Your progressiveness is enviable. Some people are scared to share, that’s why Wakanda is not widely known. But I promise when it is done right, it can be beautiful. You will see.”

As his mother and father collect the dishes, a pound raps on the door. N’Jobu straightens up, putting a hand to his lips, making his wife go back to N’Jadaka. He walks slowly to the door.

“Who is it?” He asks, dropping his Wakandan accent for a gruff, hood tone.

A white man behind the door says, “Sir, there is a warrant out for someone here at this residence. I can guarantee you ain’t her, so just open up and let us do our jobs. No one gets hurt.”


End file.
